by Jody Hedlund
I was surprised the captain had the decency to provide me a tent, especially after I’d defied him in the coastal village. My only guess was that he realized the implications of his actions for the future. If I married Prince Ethelrex, I would one day be his queen. Even if I wasn’t the sole ruler, I’d still be able to exert a great deal of influence, and the captain would be wise not to anger me overly much lest I conspire against him.
I’d allow him to believe his generosity to me now would work to his favor. But the truth was when I became queen, I’d do everything in my power to expel him from Mercia. I knew not how, but I was determined he would not only pay for the crimes he’d committed against the people of Mercia, he’d also pay for hanging Queen Dierdal and King Francis on the castle wall. Perhaps I’d have him hanged in the same place. Along with Mitchell.
I sighed and flipped to my back, staring up at the shadows of firelight flickering against the canvas. Mitchell had sentenced Christopher to his death. I shuddered with a fresh wave of despair. I grieved not only the loss of Christopher but Mitchell too. I’d lost two friends today, not just one.
The hot trail of tears slipped down my temples, and I angrily swiped them away as I had the other times they’d escaped. I wouldn’t cry. At least not for Mitchell.
I thought I’d known him, hadn’t believed he’d ever be capable of murdering—especially a family member. Uncle Whelan and Aunt Susanna had taught us to live with high standards of godliness and love. They’d modeled it in the way they treated the people who worked their land. And Uncle had always shown it likewise, in the Everly smelters with the men and families who relied upon his business.
I’d assumed Mitchell and I shared the same values and philosophies. Perhaps his had not taken root so deeply as mine. Or perhaps Christopher’s rebellion and leaving had left a bigger wound in Mitchell than any of us had realized.
Whatever the case, I could never forgive Mitchell.
Outside the tent flap, Mitchell addressed the guard. “I would like to speak to Queen Adelaide.”
“She said she has no wish to be disturbed.”
Four knights had been posted, one on each side of my lodgings. I guessed the captain wasn’t taking any chances of me attempting to escape during the night.
Though I’d considered fleeing to Wellmont, I could never slip past these knights. They were too vigilant and hadn’t let me out of their sights all day. My best hope for saving Christopher was to pay someone with the little gold I had left to go to Wellmont and free him.
But other than the interaction with the woman in the coastal village, I’d had no opportunities to speak to anyone else. Even if I managed to somehow rescue Christopher, I’d resigned myself to marrying Prince Ethelrex. Such a move was preferable than dying. After all, what good would I be to my people in the grave? As Ethelrex’s queen, I’d be able to have some impact—at least I hoped so.
I didn’t know much about the future king, only the occasional gossip since he’d recently arrived in Delsworth after spending most of his life thus far at the royal residence in Warwick. I’d heard he was a skilled fighter and tough warrior, renowned for his strength. In a recent tournament, Mitchell had boasted that the prince had taken down three giant Danes single-handedly.
“Please,” Mitchell said. “I shall not be able to rest until I make amends.”
He’d already tried to speak to me on several occasions throughout the day, and every time I’d only nudged my horse away from his.
“You will not be able to make amends, Mitchell,” I called.
“I beg you to let me try.”
The laughter of the soldiers around the campfire died away as they awaited my verdict. Part of me never wanted to see or speak to him again. But another part longed to know why he’d stooped so low. I needed an explanation to help make sense of what he’d done.
I sat up on my thin mat. I’d shed my armor but remained in my cloak and garments for the warmth they could provide. But even now, I shivered more from the misery of all that had happened than the cold.
“You may never forgive me,” Mitchell spoke in almost a whisper, apparently realizing we now had an audience. “But I implore you to allow me the chance to explain.”
Outside, a log in the fire pit popped and sent a spray of sparks into the air—just like my life, volatile and dangerous.
“Very well,” I said. “You may explain. But I shall give you only five minutes.”
The guard lifted the canvas away from the opening, and Mitchell ducked inside. The guard held a torch inside and glanced around. The tent was conical in shape and spacious. I had but a few possessions to take up room, certainly nothing to cause my captor alarm. He bowed in my direction then backed out and closed the flap.
Mitchell knelt upon the damp grass floor and lowered his head.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I was painfully aware of the quiet outside, which meant the soldiers were still listening and that our moment of privacy was public to the entire camp. Hopefully, Captain Theobald in his tent on the opposite side of the fire wasn’t paying any heed to the conversation.
“Why did you plot against Christopher?” I finally asked, unable to keep the hurt and accusation from my voice.
Mitchell didn’t raise his head, but instead soundlessly slipped off his gauntlet gloves. “I was angry at him for earning your favor so easily.”
“So you locked up your own brother and left him to die because you were jealous?” Jealousy and anger were a hazardous combination. I should have paid better attention to the favor I’d extended to Christopher. Maybe I could have prevented the situation from escalating.
Mitchell pushed the gloves toward me, nodding that I should put them on. Then he began unlacing his boots. “I hoped in removing him from your life you would trust and look to me for counsel again.”
“I never stopped trusting you—until today.” I tried to make sense of why Mitchell was shedding his shoes.
“I regret I betrayed your trust.” He slid his boots toward me. Before I could think of an answer, he unpinned his surcoat. “I only hope I may one day regain it.”
“I could never—”
“Remember all the jousting tournaments?” He removed his cloak. Then with a glance over his shoulder as though to ensure we were still alone, he began to inch his chain mail mantle over his head. Again he motioned for me to start putting on his discarded garments.
I picked up one of his gloves. Why did he want me to don his armor? Did he plan for us to fight our way free? But why give me his instead of putting my own back on?
“You were always braver and stronger than me.” His voice turned soft so that I almost couldn’t hear it. “Even when you were me.” He laid the mantel next to me and motioned for me to hurry, taking my cloak and pointing from himself to the pallet.
My pulse lurched. Did Mitchell want me to dress in his armor and pretend to be him? Was he planning to lie down in the tent in my stead while I walked out as him?
It was a daring feat. But . . . we’d fooled many people in the past with our duplicity. Why not now?
I hesitated. Was it possible I could make it back to Wellmont and free Christopher after all? Was that what Mitchell was insinuating? But what would Theobald do to Mitchell if I left, especially after discovering his duplicity?
Even if I was angry with Mitchell, I couldn’t put him in danger.
Mitchell shoved his cloak at me urgently.
Maybe this was more than just about freeing Christopher. Maybe this was another chance to fight back against King Ethelwulf, a chance I’d thought was gone.
Aunt Susanna’s request upon her deathbed reverberated in my mind: God saved your life, Adelaide. And now it is time for you to give it back in service to Him as the ruler you were born to be. Promise you will do so.
I’d vowed to her that I would. After the sacrifices she’d made for me, how could I give up now?
The same with Sister Katherine. She’d endured years of horrible torture and h
ad risked her life again and again for me. If she’d never compromised her quest to restore Mercia, how could I? If she’d never stopped believing in my rule as queen of Mercia, how could I?
I grabbed the garments and began to dress, making as little noise and movement as I could, all the while talking with Mitchell, each of us playing our part. By the time I was fully attired in his armor, surcoat, gloves, and boots, I couldn’t recall the words I’d spoken to him in reply to his petitions for forgiveness, except that I’d continued the pretense of arguing so the guards outside my tent wouldn’t suspect what we were doing.
“Please, Your Majesty,” Mitchell said once more, bowing before me.
The five minutes I’d promised him had passed, and I sensed this was the moment of transition when he would take my place on the pallet and I would rise to become him. I lowered myself, placed an arm across his back, and then gave him the absolution he sought. “Though I can never forget what you did to Christopher, I shall ask God to help me forgive you.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
We were side by side for just an instant, long enough for him to whisper in my ear. “John is forty paces south of camp. Free Christopher and get out of Mercia.”
How had Tall John managed to get away without detection? And how would Mitchell save himself?
The questions begged for release. But Mitchell pressed something into my hand. “I found this locked in a stone bookshelf in the ruins of the scriptorium.” He gave me a sharp nudge to be on my way.
I stuffed what seemed to be a torn piece of parchment into my pouch then rose, pulling my hood up just the way he’d worn his when he’d entered my tent. He likewise rolled onto my pallet and covered himself with my cloak and blanket, tucking them high enough that the guard wouldn’t be able to see his face or hair.
I spun on my heels and pushed against the tent flap. Instantly, the guard lifted the canvas covering. I ducked outside into the darkness of the night and imitated Mitchell’s stance. I could feel the stares of the soldiers around the campfire and tensed as I waited for them to call out in recognition.
The tent guard raised his torch inside again before backing out and closing the flap. Using Mitchell’s gait, I started across the camp toward his bedroll, which he’d laid out near the southern edge underneath a low-lying hawthorn bush. At the sight of Tall John’s long frame already slumbering on the bedroll next to Mitchell’s, I narrowed my eyes in confusion. Perhaps Tall John hadn’t made his escape yet after all.
With each step I took, my blood pounded a deafening tempo. I expected one of the soldiers around the campfire to demand that I turn around so he could examine my face. I tried to tell myself this was no different from other occasions when I’d pretended to be Mitchell. I’d perfected his stride and mannerisms. There had even been a couple of instances when I’d had to emulate his voice. I prayed I could escape without question this time. These guards were too well trained and would surely notice something amiss if I spoke.
By the time I reached the bedrolls, my stomach had cinched into a hangman’s noose. I stepped over Tall John and threw myself onto the ground, acting the part of a despondent man. I turned away from prying eyes, praying the hawthorn bush would give me enough cover to keep up the charade until I had the chance to sneak away.
I couldn’t wait too long. I had to make my escape before anyone suspected we had switched places. At the same time, I knew I had to remain until the firelight dimmed and the soldiers retired for the night.
I wanted to speak to Tall John, but he was strangely silent. After long minutes, I realized he wasn’t there, that somehow Mitchell had disguised Tall John’s bedroll to appear as though he was sleeping. I would have to do the same to mine.
The minutes crawled by as I plotted my course of action. By the time the last of the soldiers around the fire dropped onto his pallet, I had enough windfall gathered into my bedroll to form the shape of my body underneath the blanket so that if one of the tent guards or other sentries on duty glanced my way, they wouldn’t realize I was gone. At least hopefully not until morning when they kicked my blanket to awaken me and found the sticks instead.
On my belly, I slid like a serpent through the brush until the darkness consumed me.
Chapter
18
Adelaide
Twigs and branches scraped my face. The tangle of brush snagged at Mitchell’s chain mail, slowing me down. But I pushed myself to keep going, fearing that at any second I’d hear shouts and commotion behind me as the soldiers recognized my absence.
With the continued silence, I finally rose and wished for some way to mask my trail, cover my boot prints, and smooth away the broken blades and leaves. But in the dark without the stars or moon, I had to use every sense to stay on course south of the camp, testing the position of the moss and the breeze.
Even so, I realized I’d veered off when after forty paces I hadn’t come into contact with Tall John. I stopped and listened for the horses but heard nothing. Taking a chance, I risked a soft whistle, the one I used when we were hawking together and wanted to let him know my position.
I held my breath and waited for his answering whistle. When none came, the anxiety roiling through my chest squeezed at my lungs so that I could hardly manage another faint whistle.
A moment of silence passed with no response. If I couldn’t find Tall John or if he’d been caught already, I’d have to return to Wellmont on my own. It was a full day’s ride by horse to the ruins, even longer by foot.
I needed to make haste. Every minute of delay could affect Christopher’s life. And every minute of delay could also put me in jeopardy. If I was very fortunate, I’d have until dawn to get a head start. If Captain Theobald discovered my absence sooner, I’d have even less time to outrun him and his elite guard.
I dropped my head in despondency, but then . . . A faint birdcall wafted on the breeze.
Tall John? I perked up and listened. Had it come from the east?
After several heartbeats, the soft trill came again. I started in the direction of the sound. It was most definitely east, which meant I’d gone farther off course than I’d realized. Thankfully, a short time later, I found myself hugging Tall John. I didn’t wait to question how he’d managed to steal away his horse and Roland. And I didn’t stop to inform him of how I’d made my getaway. Instead, we mounted our horses and silently moved out.
Once on our way, I still couldn’t breathe normally. I could only think about the fact that if I was recaptured, I wouldn’t be able to reach Christopher in time and that he’d surely perish.
We rode all night pushing our steeds hard. At the first light of dawn, we’d reached the craggy trail that cut through Huntingdon Rocks. As the crumbling structure of the old fortress came into view, I tossed a glance over my shoulder praying, as I had been all night, that Captain Theobald and his men weren’t on our trail yet. The eastern sky lightened into a bloody crimson stain along the horizon behind us, but we were yet alone.
I kicked Roland into a trot across the uneven ground. Sensing my urgency, he moved with me, obliging me with the grace he always had.
“This way, Your Majesty,” Tall John called, veering away from the ruins altogether.
“Do you really think we’ll be able to find another entrance?”
“We need to try,” said my faithful steward. His thin face radiated weariness and his shoulders were stooped, but he’d ridden all night just as tirelessly as I had.
During the long hours, Tall John had told me more legends regarding the Wellmont ruins from the days when it had been called Huntwell Fortress. Apparently, servants had hidden Queen Leandra’s newborn babe, Princess Aurora, at Huntwell to keep her safe from Queen Margery, who had decided to try to take the kingdom away from the new heir.
Though I was familiar with the tales regarding King Alfred the Peacemaker’s twin daughters, I was struck by the realization that Queen Leandra was my great-grandmother and Princess Aurora my grandmother. I was related
to those strong women I’d always admired.
Tall John’s grandfather had told him stories of hidden passageways underground that had been used for hiding the Princess Aurora, and how an opening had eventually been created leading into Inglewood Forest so the princess could go out from time to time.
Of course now, after so much of the eastern forest had been cleared away for its timber, Tall John believed the secret entrance was somewhere among the rocky formations on western heathland. He also believed that after so many decades with the castle in ruins, the passageways were still useable since he’d heard rumors that loyalist rebels had used them to hide from King Ethelwulf, especially during the purging.
I was inclined to think Tall John was wasting precious time that could be better spent hauling rocks out of the dungeon stairwell. However, if we could find the opening, we’d have the cover we’d need to hide from Captain Theobald when he caught up to us. Thus, I’d agreed to the search and prayed the old fables were true.
With the growing light of dawn at our aid, I followed Tall John’s lead. The further away from the ruins we went, the more I doubted we would find anything. Along a rise in the heathland, we circled around the largest of the rock outcroppings until they all began to look alike to me. As the sun rose steadily higher, I halted my steed and was about to call off the search, when Tall John motioned me toward a boulder smaller than the others we’d explored.
“Here!” His voice contained a note of excitement. “It’s here!”
I dismounted next to Tall John and examined the high mound and the stone wedged into it. The place looked as ordinary as any other with a plain granite rock that contained no visible markings or signs.
“Are you certain?” I asked, watching him heave against the stone with his shoulder.
“Aye, here.” He thrust aside a clump of gorse and pointed to grooves at the base of the stone. “It won’t budge in my strength alone, but together we might be able to move it.”
